


Batcellanea

by envysparkler



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Sibling Acquisition, Batfamily (DCU), Child Neglect, Enemy to Caretaker, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Panic Attacks, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29792421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: A collection of outtakes, alternate POVs, and missing scenes from my existing work.3. 'buried birds' alternate pov.4. 'tunnel vision' end note scene.5. 'robin's roast' end note scene.6. 'transaction' end note scene.7. 'buried birds' end note scene.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 651
Kudos: 941





	1. tunnel vision + end note

**Author's Note:**

> I reached 1000 subscribers, and I wanted to do something special! I thought about opening up prompts, but realized that that would take too much time, so I decided to open up requests for outtakes from my existing work.
> 
> Everyone is allowed to request one (1) outtake!
> 
> Rules:  
> \- You must be signed in.  
> \- One request per person.  
> \- Request must be a scene from the end notes, an alternate POV, a missing scene from an already existing work.  
> \- The request fill will only be one scene long, as long or short as that one scene is, so choose wisely. If you select a hurt scene, hurt is all you're going to get.  
> \- If I can't or won't fill your request for some reason, I'll let you know and you can pick another.  
> \- If your request has already been claimed by someone else, I'll let you know and you can pick another.  
> \- No take-backs.
> 
> Thank you all so much for subscribing, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years later, a grumpy Jason is hobbling around the Manor on crutches, two months post-Ethiopia, when the doorbell rings. There's a kid clutching a folder on their doorstep, and he wants to talk about Bruce Wayne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by iselsis! Scene from the end notes of [tunnel vision](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29549493).
> 
> Content warning: panic attacks.

His hands were clammy. He could feel his heart beating in his throat, pulsing with every swallow. The folder he was clutching to his chest trembled as his fingers shook, and he forced himself to take deep breaths as he made his way up the drive.

He could do this.

He _had_ to do this.

He – he was the only one who could. It was his responsibility. He needed to stop being such a _scaredy-cat_ , because Bruce Wayne was on a business trip. Nothing to worry about. No one to stop him from talking to Jason.

Tim hadn’t wanted to believe it. Hadn’t even wanted to _consider_ it. This was Batman he was talking about. Gotham’s protector. The Dark Knight. He was on the _Justice League_ , for gods’ sake. Surely someone would’ve put a stop to it by now if it was true.

But Tim couldn’t ignore the facts.

Fact number one. Jason Todd had run away from home. They’d tried to cover it up with a story about him going to visit his mother and not telling anyone, but Tim had been _there_ when Batman searched through Gotham, he knew that Jason had run.

Fact number two. Jason Todd’s injuries were not consistent with a car accident. His reported injuries – the leg broken in three places, the broken ribs, the broken collarbone – sure, but Jason had splints around his fingers and Tim had caught a glimpse of him, that first week he’d been recovering in the Manor, and he’d seen the vivid, hand-shaped bruises around Jason’s throat.

Fact number three. Batman had gotten significantly, demonstrably more violent. Tim had run the data three times. There were five times the number of criminals headed to the hospital with broken bones. Tim had watched, huddled on a fire escape, while Batman nearly pulverized a goon’s face. The Joker had been put back into Arkham barely _breathing_.

Fact number four. Dick Grayson had apparently vanished off the face of the planet. Several tabloids had reported him going on vacation to some sunny, tropical island, but Tim couldn’t find a single photo of him in the past two months. Nothing of him even boarding a plane. Dick Grayson’s last verifiable appearance was one week before Jason had run away.

It didn’t paint a pretty picture.

Tim had tried to come up with another explanation. Some other reason that Dick wasn’t reported missing and Jason’s injuries were a lie. Some other reason that Batman was suddenly not hiding his violence. Something _other_ than Batman finally going too far, killing his first kid, and beating his second half to death before turning his aggression to the streets to avoid killing that one too.

Dick – maybe Dick was on a mission. As Nightwing. Maybe there was an explanation that didn’t involve the cheerful, smiling older boy lying in a shallow grave.

But Jason wasn’t a vigilante. Jason was just a _kid_ , and they were covering up his injuries, and if they weren’t covering it up because of a secret identity, then they were covering it up because of something _bad_.

Tim clutched the folder more tightly. He could do this. He had to do this. Before Jason ended up like Dick.

He reached up and rang the doorbell.

There was muffled cursing on the other side and Tim shifted from foot to foot before the door was finally wrenched open.

Dark hair. A scowl fading to suspicious confusion. High-collared shirt, Tim noted, and long-sleeved, even though it was almost summer. “Uh,” Jason Todd said, staring at him, “Can I help you?”

Come _on_ , Tim. He could do this.

“Hi,” Tim said – not squeaked, it wasn’t a squeak, even if Jason’s eyebrows raised – and thrust out his hand, “I’m Tim Drake. I live next door.”

Jason stared at him for another moment, before shifting to one crutch and using the other arm to shake Tim’s hand. “Hello,” Jason said blankly, “I’m Jason Todd.”

“I know,” Tim replied. Which was _obvious_ , why else would Tim be here – okay. He needed to get back on track. “Can I talk to you?”

Jason’s eyebrows raised again. “Sure,” he said, hopping back a step. Tim tried not to stare at the cast – it was massive, extending from Jason’s hip all the way down to his toes – and stepped over the threshold. “Come on in.”

Tim tiptoed after Jason, scanning the Manor with wide eyes. It didn’t feel as…cold as his house was, as sterile. The Manor felt like a home.

Tim swallowed, and paid closer attention – you never knew when a minor detail was important.

“We can talk in the library,” Jason said over his shoulder, limping down the hall, “This about something for school? You go to Gotham Academy, right? You seem familiar.”

“Uh, yes,” Tim stuttered – Jason had _recognized_ him? Tim wasn’t getting tutored, and he didn’t realize Jason paid attention to other kids, but he supposed that seeing him at the Bristol bus stop every day might’ve imprinted on his memory.

“Jay-lad,” a warm voice spoke up, and Tim felt ice run down his spine. “I didn’t know you had friends over.”

Bruce Wayne was leaning against a doorway, observing them both with sharp blue eyes. Bruce Wayne, who _wasn’t supposed to be here_.

The lump in his throat wasn’t letting him swallow.

“This is Tim Drake,” Jason waved a hand at him, “The neighbor. It’s some school thing.”

“Ah, yes, the Drakes,” Wayne said warmly, stepping closer and offering his hand, “It’s nice to meet you, Tim.”

Not taking his hand would be rude. Would invite suspicion Tim couldn’t afford. He’d planned for Mr. Pennyworth, but not for Wayne, and he needed to talk to Jason privately or lose his chance.

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Wayne,” Tim almost stuttered, gingerly shaking the man’s hand. Wayne smiled.

“We’ll be in the library,” Jason called back, already hobbling away. Uneasy to spend time in his guardian’s presence? Wayne was all smiles now, but Tim knew that didn’t mean anything.

“I’ll get Alfred to make you some snacks,” Wayne said, still smiling. Tim edged around him and followed Jason, darting a quick glance to make sure Wayne wasn’t following them.

The library was _huge_ , and Tim almost forgot to be afraid when he saw the towering shelves. Jason smiled at the look on his face, and beckoned him over to a small nook near the windows, collapsing onto the couch with a mostly suppressed groan.

Tim took the seat opposite him, and let the folder rest on his legs. His feet were tapping against the floor, and he took a nervous glance around the room to confirm that they were really alone.

“So, what did you want to talk about, Tim? Is this about summer homework –”

“Uh, no,” Tim cut him off before Jason could get into his practiced tutor spiel. “It’s not about schoolwork. Sorry.”

Jason blinked, before switching tracks, “That’s fine. Is this about a school-related issue, or something at home –”

“I know how you got those injuries.”

That was not what he meant to say. He’d _practiced_ this. He’d looked up information on how to talk to people you suspected of being abused. But Wayne was _here_ and he wasn’t supposed to be and Tim didn’t know how much time they had.

Jason’s expression was three-parts confusion, one-part suspicion. “I’m sorry, what –”

Tim gripped the folder more tightly as he said, low and rushed, “I know Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

A flash of emotion darted across Jason’s face, before his eyebrows raised in clear incredulity. “Kid, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jason said firmly, but Tim had _seen_ the fear in his eyes.

“I know he’s Batman,” Tim repeated, “I know Dick Grayson is Nightwing. I – I have evidence.” Jason’s face was beginning to look like a storm cloud. “I have pictures. I – I can help you.”

“Help me?” Jason frowned, “Help me with _what_?”

“I know he’s hurting you,” Tim whispered, leaning forward, “I know you tried to run away. But I can –”

“Okay,” Jason said, his voice turning cold, “If this is a joke, it’s not very funny.”

“No, _no_ , Jason, I just want to help,” Tim said, frantic, “I can get him to stop, I can threaten to expose him, okay, you – you can leave him –”

“Threaten to expose _what_?” Jason snarled, lurching up to his feet. Tim scrambled to his feet as well, holding his folder – Jason didn’t believe him, and why would he, Tim was just a _kid_ – but if he showed him the photos maybe – “That my dad is _Batman_? Do you realize how insane you sound?”

“I have proof,” Tim repeated, rushed, “I swear, Jason, I can get him to stop –”

“He’s not _doing_ anything to stop!” Jason snapped back, and the raised voices had clearly alerted someone, because Wayne poked his head around a shelf.

“Everything okay, boys?” Wayne asked, his gaze darting to Jason.

Jason was looking at Tim like he was gum stuck to his shoe. _Please_ , Tim begged inside his head, _please believe me, I can help you_.

“Tim thinks you’re Batman,” Jason said, low and mocking, and Tim froze. “He says he has proof.” Wayne was frowning now, and Tim felt his heart skip a beat. “He says he has _pictures_.”

Wayne’s gaze dropped to the folder in Tim’s shaking hands, and he took a step forward. Tim instinctively jerked a step back, but the wall was behind him, and they were in a corner, and there was nowhere to run.

He hadn’t planned for Wayne being here. He hadn’t planned for _Batman_ being here. He hadn’t – he hadn’t –

He could still see the black gauntleted fist come crashing down on a face, over and over and over until everything was red and swollen and the goon couldn’t even scream anymore.

He could hear the sound of bone cracking and choked-off sobs and futile begging.

Batman didn’t have mercy. Everyone knew that.

“ _Shit_ ,” someone cursed, but it sounded very distant. Everything felt very distant, from the wall pressing into his back to the hazy figures in front of him to the burning in his chest. “Tim! _Tim_!”

That was his name. Tim. Tim, the idiot kid that thought he could get one over Batman where the whole city had failed. Tim, the idiot that thought he could actually _protect_ someone. Tim, the stupid, stupid kid that had probably just made Jason’s life even worse.

“Tim, I’m so sorry, Tim, please, you need to breathe.”

What was the point in breathing? Batman was just going to choke him out anyway.

“Tim, kid, _breathe_.” Hands on his shoulder, and Tim couldn’t even flinch – but they were too small to be Wayne’s, and he could feel the edge of the splints through his shirt, and worried blue eyes in front of him, and his knees felt like jelly, and suddenly he was sitting on the floor.

Someone was taking gasping breaths, too-loud and too-fast. Tim could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, in tune to the sickening terror that clawed up his stomach and shackled his limbs and laughed in his head.

He thought he could outsmart _Batman_.

He – he’d actually believed he could blackmail Wayne, that he could get Jason away from him, that he could _help_. That he could succeed where _Nightwing_ had failed. That somehow he was smart enough to find a loophole that neither Dick nor Jason had discovered after all these years.

“Shh, kiddo, just breathe. Come on, you can do it.” There was a hand rubbing up and down his spine, and something soft under his cheek.

The thing – the worst, most horrible thing – was that Tim _could’ve_ done it. He could’ve kept his photos in a lockbox or had a drop set up with the police or something, _anything_ , to ensure his safety.

But he hadn’t expected Wayne to be home.

And now he’d just made everything a hundred times worse.

There was no way Wayne was letting him go. Batman didn’t kill, but Tim had heard enough stories of people _disappearing_ to know that death wasn’t the worst card on the table. Tim shuddered harder, and clutched at the soft material he was pressed against – a shirt, it was Jason’s shirt, and Jason’s arms around him, and Jason’s low voice in his ear, and how pathetic was it that the boy he’d come here to save was protecting him.

Tim took a hitched, stuttered breath, and another – the shirt was wet under his face, and his vision was blurry when he raised his head. Jason was looked at him, worried and guilty, but Tim didn’t blame him. Tim was the one who’d come here and messed it all up when Jason had enough difficulties trying to manage on his own.

“Tim?” Jason asked softly, “You okay, kid?”

Tim nodded, not willing to trust his voice, and shuffled back, out of Jason’s arms – Jason, who was sitting awkwardly on the ground with his cast stretched out because apparently Tim could do nothing but inconvenience him at every turn – and looked up.

Wayne was sitting on the ground, a few feet away, flipping through Tim’s folder. His face was carefully blank.

It wasn’t all of Tim’s photos. But it was enough to be proof, enough to show that Tim _did_ actually know that Bruce Wayne was Batman. It was enough for Wayne to take him as a threat.

Wayne looked up, and met Tim’s gaze, expression still masked. “Who else knows?” he asked, quiet but firm.

“ _Bruce_ ,” Jason said lowly, but Tim shifted away from him – Jason was already hurt, he shouldn’t be protecting Tim.

He thought about lying, but he didn’t think he could bluff Batman. “No one,” he said quietly.

Wayne raised an eyebrow, “No one else has these pictures?”

Tim shook his head. Something darkened in Wayne’s expression. “Who took them?” he asked, spreading them out on the ground – there were a couple of dark shadows that were Batman, but most were of Robin, brightly colored and mid-flip, and Tim had included newspaper articles of Batman and Robin, the Flying Graysons and their death, and the calculated statistics matching Bruce Wayne’s absences and Batman’s appearances.

Tim swallowed. “I did,” he whispered.

Wayne’s gaze snapped to him, eyes narrowing. Jason made a soft, surprised sound. Wayne looked at the pictures, back to him, and the pictures again, his expression growing darker and darker.

He looked _mad_.

Tim bit his lap, and cast Jason a sideways glance. Jason, who finally seemed to be recovering. Jason, who looked brighter and healthier than the sullen boy Tim had caught sight of two months ago. Jason, who was _healing_ before Tim came and messed everything up.

“I’m sorry,” Tim said, slowly scooting forward until he was half in front of Jason, between him and Wayne. “I – I’m sorry.” He couldn’t say _I didn’t mean to_ , because he _did_ , he’d just failed.

He had to do damage control. He had to fix this. He – he couldn’t be the cause of Jason getting hurt again.

Unfortunately, there was only one thing Tim had left to bargain with.

“I – I’ll give you all the pictures,” Tim said softly. Wayne already knew they existed. Giving them up was a gesture of goodwill. “Just – just please – please don’t hurt Jason.”

Wayne stared at him, eyes wide. Jason made a sound like he’d been punched. Tim kept his gaze on Wayne, even though he really wanted to curl up into a ball, and waited.

Tim had no leverage. Wayne didn’t need to accept the deal, he could just go ransack Tim’s home and life until he found all the pictures. And even if he accepted, he didn’t need to _hold_ to it – with the pictures in his hand, he could do anything he wanted to Jason. Or Tim.

“You don’t have to give me the pictures,” Wayne said softly, and dread almost strangled him.

“Please,” Tim stuttered, scrambling until he was fully in front of Jason, “Please, I’m _sorry_ , it’s not his fault – he didn’t do anything, I swear, don’t hurt him, _please_ –”

“Tim,” Jason said quietly, his voice all choked up, and arms encircled him and tugged him back, “Tim, no. Bruce isn’t going to hurt me.”

Tim knew he should break Jason’s grasp, twist free and do _something_ , but Jason’s arms were warm and Tim could feel his heartbeat against his cheek and he buried his face into Jason’s shirt and shuddered. “I’m sorry,” Tim said wetly, “I’m so, _so_ sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

“Tim, I swear, he’s not going to hurt me, Bruce would _never_ hurt me –”

“I’m sorry,” Tim repeated, trembling fingers clutching Jason’s shirt, “Believe me, Jason, I’m so –”

“Tim,” Wayne cut him off, “Could you look at me, please?”

Not like that was really a choice. Tim raised his head and twisted slightly, still firmly in Jason’s hold, until he could meet Wayne’s gaze.

All the photos had been tidied back into the folder, and Wayne was staring straight at him with those piercing eyes, some unidentifiable emotion in his eyes.

“I have never raised a hand to Jason,” Wayne said softly, “And I never will. I do everything in my power to protect him, always. You have my word.”

Tim stared at him. _Lying_ , a part of his mind whispered, but Wayne’s expression was carefully crafted, and Tim could find no hint of insincerity.

“Why did you think I hurt him?” Wayne asked.

Ah. Trying to figure out where he’d tripped up. Tim didn’t want to tell him – even if _Tim_ had failed, surely someone else would catch it, someone would figure it out – but he had next to nothing to bargain with, and anything that put Wayne in a better mood was good.

Tim cast a side glance at Jason. “It – a car accident wouldn’t have left those kind of injuries.” Wayne frowned, and Tim rushed to continue before he was given another meaningless denial, “And I saw the bruises around his throat.”

Jason’s arms tightened around him. Wayne looked abruptly tired. Tim shrank back, and waited.

Wayne sighed. Jason’s hands moved, tugging Tim around until he was facing the older boy. “You’re right,” Jason said quietly, “It wasn’t a car accident.” His expression twisted, and smoothed out, “It was the Joker.”

Tim stared at him. “I made the stupid decision to go find my birth mom without telling anyone,” Jason said, something bitter and poisonous in his tone, “And when she realized I’d been adopted by Bruce Wayne, she sold me out to the Joker to pay off her debts. The Joker decided I’d make a great hostage for a showdown with Batman and – and he tortured me while he waited for Batman to show up.” Jason met his gaze, blue eyes glimmering. “ _None_ of it was Bruce’s fault,” he said hoarsely.

Wayne made a soft sound. Jason’s eyes narrowed, and he repeated, stronger, “None of it was Bruce’s fault.”

The Joker, beaten half to death before he was locked back up in Arkham. Batman’s sudden, uncharacteristic violence. And Tim could understand why Jason would want to hide that he’d gotten kidnapped and tortured by a supervillain.

It…added up.

“And Dick?” Tim asked softly.

Jason frowned, “Dick? What about Dick?” Jason huffed, “Kid, he’s not even on the _planet_ , he didn’t hurt me.”

“What do you mean, he’s not on the planet?” Tim asked, his voice rising higher.

“He’s on a mission,” Jason blinked at him, “As Nightwing.” And then he winced, like he realized that maybe giving out mission details to a strange thirteen-year-old wasn’t the best idea.

Dick…was on a mission. Because of course heroes took missions in outer space. Jason had been hurt by a supervillain. Batman was just mad that Jason got hurt.

It made sense. All of it. And Tim had taken the facts and jumped to the worst possible conclusion.

He felt exceedingly stupid.

“Oh,” Tim said in a small voice, “Um. Sorry.” He couldn’t look at Wayne. He couldn’t look at Jason. No wonder Jason had thought he was crazy. That was what he was, a crazy stalker.

Tim stared at his knees and tugged at a loose thread in his jeans. Wayne wasn’t going to hurt Jason. That was good to know. At least _something_ had come out of Tim playing all his cards at once.

“I,” Tim started slowly, “No one’s going to notice I’m gone till the end of the week. Maybe later, if Mrs. Mac doesn’t go looking.” _So just get on with it_ , he finished mentally.

He knew that bad things happened to people that got too close to discovering Batman’s secret.

“What?” Jason said, “What are you talking about?”

“You – you don’t have to worry,” Tim said quietly, “No one knows I came here.” Originally, because he didn’t want Wayne to figure out where Jason had gone. “I – I can get the photos for you, first, if you want. Or – or not.” Wayne had already said he didn’t want the photos. “Sorry,” Tim added, still staring at his knees.

He should’ve been on his feet. _Face it like a man_ , his father’s voice echoed in his head. But Jason was still hugging him, and it felt so _nice_ , and Tim was the most selfish person on the planet but he was willing to leech off Jason’s heat for as long as he could.

“Tim,” Wayne said softly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Jason squawked and held Tim tighter. “I would never let _anyone_ hurt a kid,” he growled, and Tim could almost believe him.

Tim shrugged, a quick up-and-down. “Okay,” Tim said, still not looking up. It helped to know that it wouldn’t hurt. Whatever it was. Batman didn’t kill, so maybe it was a memory wipe? Some sort of witness protection thing? Or just a special jail built for people who got too nosy?

“Tim,” Wayne said slowly, “What are you scared of?”

How did he know Tim was scared? Tim wasn’t even looking at him, and the tears were silent, and – oh. His fingers were shaking.

Tim couldn’t stifle the next sob.

“I’m sorry,” Tim mumbled through hitched breaths, “I – I know you’re going to do – whatever you do when someone figures out your identity. I’m sorry. I – I never told anyone, I was never going to tell anyone, I just. I’m _sorry_.”

“Tim, kiddo, _no_ ,” Jason drew him closer, until Tim was sniffling into his shirt again, “No one is going to hurt you. No one is going to attack you.” There were fingers drifting through his hair, and Tim shuddered, pressing closer to the older boy and squeezing his eyes shut. “I promise, we aren’t going to kidnap you or whatever it is you’re thinking. You get to go home, I swear –”

Wayne cleared his throat, and Tim trembled. “About that,” Wayne said slowly, “When you said _‘no one’s going to notice’_ –”

“ _Bruce_ ,” Jason snapped, cutting him off, and Tim raised his head enough to see Wayne exchange a long look with Jason.

Wayne looked away first. Jason made a wordless grumble, and clutched Tim tighter.

“I apologize,” Wayne said calmly, “But if you’re spending your days unsupervised, I know Jason would be happy to host you here at the Manor. You could return to your home for dinner, and come over after breakfast.”

To keep a closer eye on Tim, and make sure he didn’t tell anyone? It was a better deal than a memory wipe, anyway, and this way Tim could watch Jason and make sure he wasn’t getting hurt.

“O-okay,” Tim said, shrinking back into Jason’s embrace as Wayne smiled. The smile quickly dimmed to something more melancholy, and Wayne nodded to Jason as he got up and walked away.

“I was getting a little stir-crazy by myself, actually,” Jason hummed, “It would be great to have someone around! There’s a ton of fun stuff to do in the Manor.”

If Tim got a hug like this every time, he didn’t care _what_ he had to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce files for custody before the month is out.
> 
> Dick returns home to _two_ little brothers. [[Batcellanea ch4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29792421/chapters/73439889).]


	2. dying dream + end note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family goes out to a baseball game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by imalivebecauseirondad! Scene from end notes of [dying dream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302537). 
> 
> This is just fluff guys. Also I hate baseball, it's pretty much the one major sport I've never followed.

It was the bottom of the ninth. One out left. First and second bases loaded. One strike down. The Knights were three points behind.

“You never know,” Dick said optimistically, having replaced Steph on Bruce’s other side. The jeering and boos had mostly died down, though Bruce knew that several people had taken photos of him in Metropolis blue-and-yellow.

Jason scoffed from Bruce’s left, “What – this is their season, or something?”

“ _You never know_ ,” Dick repeated, a fixed smile on his face, with the eerie cheerfulness of someone who knew their optimism was misplaced but was unwilling to change.

“The Knights haven’t won a Meteors game in fifteen years,” Tim piped up from Jason’s other side. Jason elbowed him, and the kid hissed back. Cass was supposed to be sitting between them, but she’d disappeared somewhere with Damian, and Steph was too focused on the game to pay attention to what they were doing.

Second strike down.

“Ah, the sweet, dulcet sounds of hope fading,” Jason grumbled, “Bruce, why haven’t you done something about this team yet?”

“I’m not sure what you think I can do, Jay-lad.”

“Batman should do something,” Dick murmured, “They say it’s a curse, you know. That the Knights always choke.”

“Sure, blame it on magic,” Tim scoffed.

The batter actually managed to connect bat to ball. “Foul ball,” the stadium groaned in unison.

“Where is Damian?” Bruce asked, scanning the seats around them. Cass had disappeared for snacks nearly twenty minutes ago, and they still hadn’t come back.

“I don’t know, but they were supposed to get me popcorn,” Jason said, stealing a handful from Tim’s neglected bucket as he said it. Tim kicked Jason in the shin to get it back, and pulled it to the other side, without actually eating any. Bruce had to wrap an arm around Jason’s shoulders to keep him from retaliating.

Steph absently took a handful, watching the game intently, and –

A hit. Everyone moved up a base, and a happy groan echoed in the stadium. “He should’ve _ran_ ,” Steph hissed, glaring at the player on third base.

“We have a chance!” Dick cheered, “One home run, and we’ll win!”

“Wow,” Jason marveled, “It must be so nice inside your head. All sunshine and unicorns and fairies.”

“They can do it,” Steph said determinedly, paying very little attention to the conversation – she was at the edge of her seat, eyes fixed on the game.

Tim scoffed loudly, and Steph threw popcorn kernels at his face without looking. Jason squawked, and tugged the bucket away from both of them. “No wasting food,” he snarled.

“It’s stale popcorn,” Tim rolled his eyes, “At least this way the rats will get to eat.”

Another loud groan. One strike down.

“No, seriously,” Bruce said, “Cass and Damian should’ve been back by now.”

“There’s apparently a _cricket_ game going on right now, and they’ve escaped to go watch it on Damian’s phone,” Dick grumbled, crossing his arms and sulking.

“Careful, chum, if Alfred hears you talking about cricket like that –” Bruce cautioned, but he was cut off with a roar as the batter swung in a full arc and connected with a _crack_.

Dick leapt up to his feet, Steph was practically on the railing, and the whole stadium seemed to hold its breath as the ball spun through the air, descending and descending and descending and –

There was a palpable hush before the stadium erupted.

“Yes!” Steph screamed, pumping her fist. Dick was dancing on top of his seat and the whole stadium was shouting, delirious in joy. Tim’s groan was almost lost amidst the gleeful cheers, and Bruce grinned as the players jogged around the bases with hands held up high.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jason said quietly, and Bruce turned to see him smiling softly, the expression so reminiscent of the twelve-year-old’s awe that Bruce felt his heart ache.

“Miracles happen,” Bruce reminded him, and Jason turned that soft expression towards him, eyes gleaming in contentment.

“Jaybird is their lucky charm!” Dick proclaimed, clambering over Bruce to hug Jason – Jason squawked and flailed and Dick laughed as he squirmed out of the hold. “I’ll go get Damian and Cass,” Dick said, heading for the stairs and walking along the seat backs instead of using the aisle like a normal person.

“I guess this means I won the bet,” Jason gave a crooked grin, happiness overtaken by mischievousness, and Tim choked as he leapt up and backed away from Jason.

“I didn’t agree!” Tim protested, “You can’t just unilaterally declare bets, that’s not fair –” He bumped into Steph, who was blocking his path with glee as Jason unfolded the sweatshirt.

Tim darted a hunted look to the sides, but people were crowding the aisles above and below them, and there was no escape. Jason shook out the sweatshirt, and advanced.

“Bruce,” Tim pleaded, eyes wide, lower lip trembling, and Bruce couldn’t help the smile. Tim’s expression twisted to furious betrayal before Jason pulled the sweatshirt over his head and it was concealed by purple cloth.

“I hate you all,” Tim complained, his voice muffled, as Jason tugged the sweatshirt down, trapping him in the large fabric.

“Love you too, Wonder Boy,” Steph giggled, holding up a V sign and making sure Tim’s scowl was in the frame before she clicked a selfie.

Bruce rested a hand on Jason’s shoulder, and his son turned to him with the impish smile that his second Robin had always worn.

It was a miracle, and Bruce refused to let it go.


	3. buried birds + alternate pov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick goes to the Manor to quite the surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Daisy! Dick POV of the scene from [buried birds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29431260) where he returns to the Manor and finds Jason & Tim.
> 
> Content warning: past descriptions of buried alive.

Dick wasn’t expecting anyone to be at the Manor, and especially not at six in the morning, but Damian had halted in the doorway of the den, and Dick could hear the tinny sound of the TV and a language he couldn’t quite recognize.

“Something wrong?” he asked, peering around Damian, because surely if there was a threat, Damian would’ve gone for his sword –

There was a large lump on the couch, and it took Dick a long moment to figure out what it was.

There was only one person Dick knew that had a streak of white through the front of their hair, but Dick still had to take several seconds for his brain to recalibrate and conclude that yes, that _was_ Jason sleeping stretched out along the couch, with the TV flickering light over his closed eyes.

That was Jason, one arm slung around the back of another figure wrapped up in a blanket, and the other hand buried in soft, dark hair.

Damian made an inarticulate noise that indicated that he was also having difficulty processing the scene.

“Pollen?” Dick suggested, his voice strangled. He hadn’t heard any news about Ivy, but maybe she’d gotten upset, and Hood was toeing the line of ally nowadays, so maybe he’d helped Red Robin?

That didn’t explain why they were in the Manor. Why they were _both_ in the Manor – Tim spent more time in his Nest, and Jason had several safehouses peppered throughout the city.

“No reports of Ivy causing a disturbance,” Damian said, clipped, staring at his phone.

“Alternate dimension?” Dick suggested. It was a mark of how ridiculous the situation was that Damian didn’t even scoff.

Dick quietly crept over, something in his heart twisting at the sight of Jason protectively curled over Tim, at them both sleeping in the den with what appeared to be two empty mugs of hot cocoa on the coffee table, with the background noise of a Turkish drama. Damian turned the TV off as Dick crouched in front of the couch, staring at Jason’s sleeping face.

“Little Wing?” he asked softly, brushing a stray bang out of Jason’s face. Jason wrinkled his nose unconsciously, and Dick laughed quietly, feathering another lock of hair across his forehead.

Jason blinked blearily, squinting at Dick, his expression still sleep-soft.

“There you are, Jaybird,” Dick said softly, unable to stop himself from the quiet croon.

Jason frowned – a mere twitch of his eyebrows, compared to his normal fearsome scowl. “S’pposed to be in ‘Haven,” he mumbled.

“Realized I forgot something in the Cave,” Dick answered – and Damian had refused to let it go until Dick agreed to come back and get the equipment, the extended commute be damned. “What happened?” he asked softly, flicking his gaze to a sleeping Tim.

Jason followed his gaze, eyebrows scrunching as though he didn’t know why he was cuddling Tim either. “Buried,” Jason said slowly, squinting, “S’meone buried the kid. Found him.”

_What_.

“Tim?” Dick asked, barely remembering to keep his voice low, “Someone _buried_ Tim?”

Someone dared to bury _his little brother_?

“Yeah,” Jason exhaled, blinks getting longer and longer, “Bastards.” He sounded exhausted, and Dick could only imagine what they’d both gone through to go from ‘buried alive’ to ‘cuddling in the Manor’.

He couldn’t control the low, furious growl, and Jason blinked again, wariness bleeding into his expression. Dick shushed him and ran his fingers through Jason’s hair until green eyes fluttered shut again.

He pressed a soft kiss to Jason’s forehead, “Sleep, Little Wing. You’re safe now.”

He waited until Jason’s breathing had evened out before he lurched to his feet and headed to the Cave. Damian followed him silently, waiting until they were through the clock door before speaking up, “Is it true?”

“Can’t really imagine why Jason would lie,” Dick said, stalking over to the Batcomputer, “But you’re right, we need more information, and I want to let them both sleep.” No one had filed a report for the night, but it was easy enough to bring up the comm footage.

There was little action for the majority of the night, Tim occasionally turning the comm on to report something on patrol but leaving it off for the most part. There was a long, stretching period of complete silence after midnight, and Dick fast-forwarded through it, feeling his heart claw up into his throat.

He paused when the silence shifted suddenly into harsh breathing. _“Hello, this is Red Robin,”_ a shaking voice reported, _“I need immediate assistance. I’m trapped in an unknown location.”_

A beat of silence.

_“Hello? Hello, is anyone there?”_

More jagged breathing.

_“Guys, this isn’t funny,”_ the voice said faintly, _“I’m trapped. I – I think I’m underground. I’m in a coffin.”_

Dick’s fingers pressed into the arms of the chair.

_“Hello,”_ the voice rose higher, _“Hello, is anyone there? Please? Please, if anyone’s there, please help, please.”_ A sob. _“Please, I’m trapped, I need help.”_ A harsh inhale. _“Again, this is Red Robin calling for assistance. Anyone copy?”_

_He’s right upstairs,_ Dick reminded himself. Jason found him. Tim was okay.

There was a gap of about a minute before the harsh breathing broke into hyperventilation.

_“Hello – hello, somebody, please.”_ Gasping sobs. _“Help – please – I – I need help – please – anyone – help –”_ the voice choked out into silence. _“This is Red Robin. If anyone is hearing this, please respond. I need assistance.”_ The voice was cracking. _“This is Red Robin. Anyone – please – I need help.”_ It was breaking apart. _“This – this is Red Robin. Please – please –”_

_“Christ, Replacement, would you shut up? You’re giving me a headache.”_

Dick exhaled in relief so strong his legs wavered. Damian let out a soft breath, and pressed closer to the chair.

_“Hood,”_ Red Robin stuttered, _“Hood, are you there? Hood, I – I need help, I –”_

_“I got that part loud and clear, Replacement,”_ the mechanized voice growled, _“You know you’re on the public line, right? Go bother one of the Bats and leave me alone.”_

_“Hood!”_ Red’s voice rose, desperate, _“Hood, wait, don’t –”_

_“Jesus fucking Christ, Replacement, are you trying to make me deaf? Guess that’s what I get for linking the comms in the first place –”_

_“Hood, no, please, don’t leave – please, there’s no one else, please, I’m trapped, please don’t go!”_

No response. Dick’s fingers were tightening into fists again.

_“Hood – Hood, please, no one else is in town – I know you hate me, but please, I’m trapped, I need help, please –”_

_“What do you mean, no one else is in town,”_ Hood said slowly, and Dick couldn’t hide the frown.

They were both alright. They were both upstairs. That was what he had to remember.

_“They’re – they’re all gone –”_

_“All? I know Oracle and B, but Agent A? N? Spoiler?”_

_“Vacation, Bludhaven, taking the week off. No one is answering me, I’m – I’m stuck in a box, I think I was drugged –”_

_“Black Bat? Robin?”_

_“Out, and in Bludhaven. Hood –”_

_“Wait. Are you seriously telling me that Gotham is Bat-free tonight?”_

Hood sounded gleeful. Dick snarled.

_“Hood, please –”_

_“Except for you, I guess. But you’re trapped – exactly how trapped are you?”_

_“I’m in a coffin!”_

_Finally_. Dick exhaled again, his foot bouncing up and down.

_“Is that supposed to be a fucking joke?”_ Hood sounded _murderous_.

_“Why would I joke about being buried alive?!”_ Red almost wailed, before his breaths dissolved into jagged, tearing gasps, too-fast and too-shallow, and Dick felt his own lungs squeeze in sympathy.

Hood’s voice echoed through the line, no longer angry, and cracking audibly, _“Deep breaths, you need to calm down, Red Robin, deep breaths, come on, Red, I need you to calm down. Red, breathe, come on, four beats in, one beat hold, six beats out. You can do it. Four in, one hold, six out. In, two, three, four, hold, out, two, three, four, five, six. In, two, three, four, hold, out, two, three, four, five, six.”_

The harsh gasps slowed as Hood repeated the pattern, and when the line was only broken by hiccups, Hood stopped. _“Red? You there?”_

_“‘M here.”_

_“Okay. Okay, you need to hold tight. I’ll be back.”_ The distorted voice couldn’t entirely hide the panic of its own.

_“Wait. Hood, wait –”_ But the man was already gone.

Dick shifted uneasily at the silence, and darted a quick look at Damian, whose expression had gone eerily blank. “They’re okay,” he offered, unsure of who he was reassuring. Damian made a soft tutting sound, and crossed his arms.

The comm line only echoed with Red’s hitched breaths, and Dick fast-forwarded again, until Hood came back. Hood extracted information about Red’s surroundings and last-known location, and clearly did some searching of his own to discover other clues.

Drugged and buried alive. Dick wanted to punch something. He wanted to yell at the two of them as Hood started planning out a search – why hadn’t they _called_ someone? Sure, Bruce would be hard to get ahold of, but Oracle could’ve surely helped, and Steph was in town, and –

_“Do you want me to call Nightwing?”_

Dick froze. He frantically tried to remember if he missed any calls – this was two thirty in the morning, he would’ve been out on patrol, he’d had his phone on him –

_“No,”_ Red said softly, and Dick felt his heart crack.

“Richard,” Damian stepped forward – _“What if your lead doesn’t pan out?”_ – and laid a hand on his arm, “You were an hour away. They were making a tactical decision to focus on the mission instead of bringing others up to speed.”

_“I told you, I’ll retrace your steps from Coventry.”_

_“And if that doesn’t work?”_

Dick appreciated the thought. But he didn’t think either Jason or Tim were making _tactical_ decisions. They were making half-panicked ones, and neither of them thought that _letting him know_ would be a good idea.

Tim could’ve died. Tim could’ve died, and Dick might’ve listened to his last words being _‘don’t tell Nightwing’_.

_“Then I’ll talk you through crawling out.”_

_“What? I – I can’t do that – I’ll suffocate –”_

_“You’ll manage. I did, and I didn’t even have any gear.”_

Dick abruptly started paying attention to the recording again. “What?” he croaked out, in tune with Red Robin, “What did he say?”

_“I’m the dead Robin, or did you forget that already?”_

_“J–Hood, what? You were buried alive?”_

Dick echoed Tim’s clear shock. _When_? Why had Jason never told them? Did he really believe that they wouldn’t have come for him? As soon as he was done listening to this, Dick was going to wrap his little brother in a hug and refuse to let him go until he accepted that Dick would always, _always_ come for him.

_“No, I was buried dead. Unfortunately for everyone, I woke up.”_

Dick – Dick didn’t understand. He _couldn’t_ understand. Damian made a sharp inhale, and pressed closer to him.

_“I thought the Lazarus Pit brought you back to life.”_

“The Pit can’t bring the dead back to life,” Damian said softly, echoing Hood’s snarl.

_“It just fixed half the broken stuff inside me, and made the rest worse.”_

_“I don’t – I never – you woke up inside your own coffin?”_

Fuck. _Fuck_. He had – they had – they’d _buried_ him – Dick had always thought that Talia had dug him up, that the information they had on the Pit was a lie, that –

He’d been there. In Gotham. Before the Pit, before the Red Hood, Jason had woken up _in Gotham_ and they – they’d never known.

_“Yeah. Fun trip. Never want to do that again. Anyway, if it comes to that, I’ll walk you through digging yourself out – and with batarangs and rebreathers, it’ll be much easier for you than it was for me.”_

Dick couldn’t help the choked sob. Jason, fifteen-year-old Jason, opening his eyes to a coffin – with no one coming, without even a chance, desperate and panicked, just like Tim had been, except there was no comm, no gear, nothing to help him get out.

No _wonder_ Hood’s breathing was as unsteady as Tim’s as he reached Fun Gardens cemetery, and relayed information back to Red as he prowled around the graves.

_“Found two freshly filled graves. I – son of a fucking bitch.”_

_“What?”_

_“I think this one’s yours, but just to be sure, take out your comm and listen for ten seconds, and tell me if you hear this.”_

Two muffled bangs. _“Did you shoot something?”_

_“The dirt. Okay. This is definitely yours. Someone thinks they’re funny.”_

_“What did they do?”_

_“Grave marker for a Robin Rouge. Fuckers. They’re going to be red when I get my hands on them.”_

Jason wasn’t going to get his hands on them, because Dick didn’t think there would be any pieces left when _he_ was done with them. Judging by Damian’s scowl, he wasn’t the only one that felt that way.

_“I – just get me out first, please.”_

_“Yeah, I’m working on it.”_

_“Hood?”_

_“Give me a second.”_

_“Hood?”_ Red Robin was panicking again. _“Hood? Hood – Hood, please, get me out, please – Hood, please, don’t go –”_

_“Not going anywhere, Repl–Red, calm down. Just trying to find something to dig with.”_ Dick could hear Hood’s breathing stutter, unsteady and unbalanced. _“Red?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“I’m going to take off my helmet for a little bit, okay –”_

_“No.”_

_“You’re hyperventilating, and I need you to calm down.”_

_“I can calm down!”_

_“Red. I can’t listen to you and dig you out. You’re panicking, and I’m going to panic, and then we’ll get nowhere. Give me five – give me ten minutes, five to figure out how this backhoe works, and five to dig you out, okay?”_ A stretching beat. _“Red?”_

_“Ten minutes,”_ Red Robin finally rasped, defeat in his tone.

Jason had clearly put his helmet nearby, because they could hear the whir and groan of machinery. Dick’s knuckles were white where he was clutching the arms of the chair, and Damian was perfectly, completely still.

The sound of machinery stopped. Dick held his breath.

_“Shh,”_ Jason said, his voice faint, _“It’s okay. You’re out, you’re safe, you’re okay.”_

_“T-thank y-you,”_ came the broken reply, _“Thank you.”_

_“Of course. Of course, baby bird.”_

Dick felt his heart squeeze painfully.

_“Can – can we go home?”_

_“The Manor?”_ There was a stretching pause. _“Sure, baby bird. We can go home.”_

Dick didn’t realize he was crying until the tear drops splattered on his hands. _They’re safe_ , he reminded himself as he curled up, burying his face in his knees, _they’re safe and alive and right upstairs_. Tangled up with each other, as though they couldn’t bear to let the other go, as though it was the only thing keeping both of them from reliving a coffin buried six feet below.

“We will find who did this,” Damian replied curtly, “And we will see how _they_ appreciate being buried alive.”

Dick wanted to tell him no. Wanted to say _‘that’s not how we do things’_ and _‘that’s torture, Dami’_ and _‘it’s okay, they’re safe, they’re here, they’re going to be fine’_.

But he couldn’t, because that was _exactly_ what he wanted to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background Damian being a good little brother.


	4. tunnel vision + end note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick comes home to two little brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by AshWinterGray! Scene from end notes of [Batcellanea ch1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29792421/chapters/73292703).

Dick only paused long enough to do their reentry check, make sure everyone went through the decontamination shower, and confirm that they had no urgent messages from the Watchtower before taking the zeta back to the Cave.

It had been _nine weeks_ , he’d never spent that much time out of contact with his family, and he was itching to give them all hugs. Jason had been in a bad mood when he left, and a twisting coil of dread had kept him anxious the whole trip.

It was stupid. Just familiar anxiety. His little brother was fine, and the only reason Dick was rushing to get out of his suit was because he wanted to give him a hug without getting complaints about being sweaty and gross or contaminated with space cooties.

Dick took the shortest shower he possibly could, didn’t bother to dry his hair, and changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants before heading out into the Cave proper. Bruce would’ve gotten a notification that someone had used the zeta, but it was two o’clock, he would still be at work, and Jason might be at tutoring, but Dick didn’t really want to wait for them to get home and –

And there was a boy standing in the middle of the Cave, staring at him with wide-eyes.

Dark hair. Blue eyes. Younger than Jason, and slighter, and the features were all off, so this wasn’t some de-aging magic, which meant that there was a strange boy standing the middle of their _secret hideout_ and –

“Nightwing,” the kid breathed out, his face lighting up, and Dick had to double check to make sure his domino was off. “You’re alive!”

_What_.

“Excuse me?” Dick replied, his heart hammering – who the _fuck_ – _what_ the fuck – _why the fuck_ was _‘you’re alive’_ this kid’s first reaction, what the hell had happened – where was Bruce, where was _Jason_ , fuck, Dick had _felt_ that something was wrong – “Who are you?”

The kid didn’t answer, still staring at Dick like a blind man seeing the sun. Dick was extremely uncomfortable by the sheer relief that the kid was exuding – he actually swayed in place, and Dick automatically stepped closer to catch him if he fainted.

“Timmers?” echoed loudly through the Cave, and Dick felt like collapsing himself – thank all the gods, that was Jason, he was okay – and whirled around to see his little brother limp towards them.

Limp.

Because he was on crutches.

Because there was a cast practically swallowing his right leg, and his fingers were splinted, and there were fresh scars on his arms. “Dick!” Jason grinned when he saw him, the earlier storm cloud of rage and depression nowhere to be found. “You’re home!”

Dick stared at him, frozen. “What _happened_ to you?” Dick breathed out, horrified.

The kid squeaked, and Dick paused to shoot him a glance to make sure he wasn’t in any danger before turning back towards Jason and stalking closer.

“Little Wing,” Dick exhaled, scanning over every visible injury and being unable to stop his mind from dreaming up the non-visible ones. Jason stiffened when he got too close, and Dick stilled – he hadn’t seen that reaction in a long time.

He looked at the injuries again.

“Jay,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “Who did this?”

Jason let out a sharp breath and practically threw himself forward – Dick caught him easily, wrapping him up in a hug and letting the warmth of his little brother bleed into him and wash away the exhaustion and loneliness of the last two months. “Jaybird,” Dick murmured into Jason’s hair, clutching him tightly, “I missed you, kiddo.”

“Missed you too,” Jason said, low and choked, and Dick held him close. When Jason finally eased back, his eyes were shining, and he roughly rubbed them against his sleeve before looking up again.

“What happened, Little Wing?” Dick asked softly, holding Jason at arms’ length to get a good look.

“It’s a long story,” Jason said hoarsely, “But I’m fine now.” Well, _that_ didn’t set off every one of Dick’s honed vigilante senses or anything, but Dick let the topic drop.

“And who’s this?” Dick asked, turning to the younger kid, who was still looking at him like Dick was the answer to all his problems.

“I’m Tim Drake,” the kid said shyly.

“Our neighbor,” Jason clarified, as though that explained what he was doing in the Cave.

“Okay,” Dick said, still confused, but further questions were halted by the _ding_ of the elevator, and Dick grinned and cartwheeled over to launch himself at Bruce, who caught him and stumbled back with a long-suffering expression. “Hi, B!” Dick grinned, wrapping him in a tight hug, “Did you miss me?”

Dick expected a grunt, one that Dick could interpret to _‘yes, of course, what would I do without you’_ , but wasn’t prepared for the soft, heavy, “Every day.”

Dick squeezed tighter, his heart twisting, and when he trusted his voice again, he murmured, “I missed you too.”

He disengaged from Bruce before the poor man could get hives from all the emotional talk, and made his way back to the kids – Tim was half hovering behind Jason, though he gave Dick a cautious smile when Dick beamed at him.

“I see they’ve multiplied,” Dick said to Bruce, grinning at Jason, “I leave for two months, and you adopt a whole new kid?”

Dick’s tone was teasing, but Bruce was not laughing. He was, in fact, looking constipated.

“ _Bruce_ ,” Dick said, astonished, “What, seriously?”

Jason groaned. Tim’s eyes were as round as saucers. “Are you stealing me?” the kid asked quietly, now fully hiding behind Jason.

Jason looked at the ceiling, like he was praying for patience.

“Okay,” Dick said, swiveling to observe everyone in the room, “I can sense there’s a _lot_ to unpack here – I’m going to go get lunch, and you all are going to explain what happened the two months I was gone.” Bruce gave him a weary nod, and Jason made a face, but agreed.

“But first,” Dick crouched, peering at Tim from around Jason and holding his arms out, “Can I get a hug from my new little brother?”

The kid’s eyes were so very blue, and Dick nearly fell back on his ass from the force with which Tim jumped into his arms. The kid was shuddering, and Dick didn’t know the full story there, but he didn’t need to know it to hold the kid close and rub soothing circles into his back and murmur soft reassurances that it was okay, Dick was here, and he would never ever let anyone hurt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce, knowing how easily the Drakes gave up custody: can I just say we stole him?
> 
> This ends up being a Theme. Steph thinks Tim is being emotionally neglected by Bruce, Cass is trying to protect the kids from punishment, and Damian is aware of the consequences of failure.


	5. 'robin's roast' + end note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian is very much not pleased when he shows up in Gotham to realize that his big brother has two other little siblings. He attempts to remedy this, and chooses to go after Stephanie first, under the assumptions that she's the weakest of the two and still a semi-outsider to the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Cathy0Clain! Scene from the end notes of [robin's roast](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095807).
> 
> Content warning: broken glass wounds.

“You _do not_ attack allies, Damian,” Todd snarled, pacing back and forth in front of him. Most everyone else was out on patrol – Damian had timed his play near-perfectly. He hadn’t accounted for Todd wandering downstairs, or for the weakling to be more resilient than he’d calculated.

“How is anyone supposed to trust you if they keep waiting for a sword in their back?” Todd exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

“Trust is for fools,” Damian replied curtly.

“This is _not_ Nanda Parbat,” Todd snapped immediately, “We are not the League of Assassins, and when you’re in Gotham, you follow the Bat’s rules!”

Damian flinched back at the rebuke. He knew all of that. He just – he hadn’t – there were different rules here?

“In Gotham, we work as a _team_ ,” Todd stressed, “And if you cannot trust and be trusted, then no one will agree to have you on the team.”

The weakling was not supposed to be a member of the team. She didn’t live in the house. She wasn’t affiliated to the Bat. Damian _had done his research_.

“If you want to follow the League’s rules, Damian,” Todd said coldly, “You’re welcome to go back to them.”

Damian took a step back in surprise. Go back? To Mother? In _disgrace_? No – _no_ , absolutely not, Damian wouldn’t, Damian _couldn’t_ –

He didn’t realize he was shaking his head until Todd’s voice softened, “Damian, no one is forcing you to leave. But if you want to be a part of the team, you need to follow the rules.” Todd stared at him, green eyes intense. “And that means _no attacking allies_.”

Damian didn’t _know_ what the stupid rules were, no one had told him anything since Mother finally agreed that it was safe for him to visit Gotham, and Father – _his father, Batman_ – had picked him up in a stealth plane and had _also_ not explained anything, and then – then there was Todd, and Damian had been so happy to see a familiar face, but an older boy kept stealing half his time, and then there were the two puny weaklings demanding his attention, and – and it wasn’t _fair_.

Todd was _his_.

Damian was just ensuring that Todd spent his time with those that deserved it.

_No attacking allies._

But who counted as an ally? The League? The various vigilantes of Gotham? _All the heroes in the world_?

No. It couldn’t be. Surely Todd didn’t mean for Damian to surrender to everyone, to be helpless in front of anyone who called themselves a hero. That was ludicrous.

But Todd’s expression was not conducive to asking for a clarification.

“Also, you owe Steph an apology,” Todd said, crossing his arms.

“ _Just_ an apology?” the weakling squawked from the medbay, “Alfred’s _still_ not done removing all the broken glass!”

“You owe Steph an apology and the favor of her choice,” Todd amended, still glowering at Damian.

Damian stared at Todd, but he made no motion to edit his previous words, or to tack on any limitations to _‘the favor of her choice’_. What would she ask for? What was Damian willing to give?

If she was smart, she would ask for something so egregious that Damian would have no choice but to refuse, thus forcing him back to the League of Assassins. But Damian didn’t know where he’d draw the line. How much humiliation he’d take to avoid returning to Mother and Grandfather in dishonor.

“Very well,” Damian said, clipped, turning to face Brown, “I apologize. What is your favor?”

The weakling considered him for a long moment, eyes drawing into a sharp expression with the faintest grimace as another sliver of glass was drawn out of her back. Damian shivered – she could ask for punishment, or for him to be her lackey, or any manner of horrible things, and no one would stop her.

Her eyes narrowed, and she smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.

“I want hugs,” Brown chirped gleefully.

Damian stared at her. Todd made a muffled sound behind him. Damian didn’t know what her game was, but he refused to play it. “No,” he snapped, crossing his arms.

Brown’s gaze moved to Todd, her expression twisting to one of obvious manipulation. “Jay,” she whined, hissing as another piece of glass was extricated, “I want _hugs_.”

Todd coughed again. “You heard her, brat,” he said, sounding distinctly amused, “She wants hugs.”

Brown grinned and opened her arms in wide invitation.

Damian was not such a fool that he’d agree to an open-ended deal. “How many _hugs_?” he hissed in distaste.

Brown made another considering face, before her eyes brightened. “How many pieces of glass did you pull out of me, Alfred?” she asked.

The butler dressing her wounds replied dryly, “Do you wish me to _stitch_ your wounds, Miss Stephanie, or _count_ them?”

“You’re right, we can count them later,” Brown hummed, and waggled her fingers, “Come on, Damian, there’s at least – _ah_ – twenty there.”

“If you would stay still, Miss Stephanie, and avoid overcomplicating my task.”

Todd nudged him forward, and Damian resisted the urge to dig in his heels. Twenty hugs. The butler had moved from the top of her back to the bottom, so he should be close to finishing. Thirty maybe. Forty max. Damian considered it.

He could endure forty hugs. And if he couldn’t, then he would return to the League of Assassins, but he’d make sure to _permanently_ disable Brown before leaving.

Damian shuffled forward. Brown beamed at him. Damian consoled himself with thoughts of driving a knife through her spine, and pushed up onto the bed before crawling over to Brown’s open arms.

Brown was still in her workout wear, her shirt half cut off to allow the butler access to her back, where the majority of the broken glass was lodged, and Damian paused to check that there weren’t any pieces sticking out to lacerate him before gingerly easing onto her lap. Brown’s arms swiftly encircled him, trapping him in the cage.

Mother never hugged him like this. They were more one-armed gestures of pride and affection, careful to never allow him too close to any vulnerabilities. This was…encompassing, and Damian stiffened as Brown hissed in pain.

Mother had once gripped one of her followers’ hands when the doctor had come to clean out an infected wound, and when they were done – Mother having remained still and silent throughout the procedure – the hand she’d been clutching was red and swollen, with at least four broken bones.

The way Brown was holding him, the maximum damage she could do would be to his ribs, and Damian subtly shifted so that nothing would be in danger of puncturing his lungs. Brown hissed again, and Damian braced himself for pain.

It didn’t come. Brown didn’t squeeze tighter – her arms were rigid around Damian, but she wasn’t pressing, and they locked up again as Brown let out a strangled cry, but there was still no pressure.

“Almost done, Miss Stephanie,” the butler said, and Brown let out a ragged breath into Damian’s hair, hitched and slow.

“Don’t you two make a pretty picture,” Todd laughed, accompanied by the click of a false shutter, “Dick’s going to be _pissed_ you got hugs first.”

Damian twists his head enough to see Todd holding the phone up, smiling faintly. “That’ll be,” Brown said, her voice cracking, “My crowning – _ha_ – achievement. Beating – _fuuudge_ – Nightwing to hugs – _Alfred_!”

“Would you like me to leave the glass in? No? Then please let me do my work.”

Brown grumbled something indecipherable in Damian’s hair, and Damian could feel her arms trembling. She was digging the nails of one hand into the other, and was close to breaking skin.

Damian stared at them. Mother would’ve called it the height of weakness, to refrain from taking an advantage won. Grandfather had never once taken on pain to spare another. Father – what would Father do?

He saw Todd’s worried expression, and slowly shifted in Brown’s lap, extricating a hand and hesitating for a beat before wrapping it on top of Brown’s. Brown stilled, and gradually relaxed. Todd gave him a surprised smile, and Damian felt a curl of pride inside his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thirty-seven. That's how many hugs Damian owes Steph. Funnily enough, they lose count. Multiple times.


	6. transaction + end note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has no idea what's going on, but he doesn't like the sound of it, and if he hugs Jason hard enough, he can't leave. Problem solved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Valkirin! Scene from end notes of [transaction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29300952).
> 
> Content warning: cuddle pollen, implied/referenced underage prostitution.

Bruce took a moment to breathe. Both his sons were in his arms, no one was dying, no one was injured, and he could take a moment to marvel at the warmth, at Jason curled into his side and Tim tucked between the two of them as they rested on the bed.

The bed.

In the strange room.

In the apartment Bruce had broken into.

Jason clearly heard his heart rate pick up, because he spoke up, voice muffled by the armor, “Calm down, old man. We have the room for the rest of the night.”

In the apartment in the building the Red Hood had bought and leased to a group of sex workers.

Bruce wanted to believe it was a coincidence. That Jason found Tim and took him to the closest safe place. He desperately wanted to believe it.

But Tim was wearing civilian clothes, and his children had exchanged an unsettling conversation about an apology for an event Bruce did _not_ remember. Tim and Jason would’ve never run into each other at a gala. Not now. Not before.

Unless they’d known each other before.

“Tim,” Bruce said slowly, “Why didn’t you tell me you got hit with pollen?”

Tim went rigid. Jason stiffened as well. Bruce held them both tightly, and waited.

“It was fine,” Tim mumbled, “I was dealing with it.”

Jason scoffed loudly.

“I was dealing with that,” Tim repeated, louder, sounding strangely on the verge of tears, “I was _handling_ it, okay! I’m not a child. I don’t need to go begging for hugs.”

Bruce was shocked by the outburst. Jason, instead of riling Tim up even more, stayed strangely silent.

“Tim,” Bruce said slowly, “It’s pollen. It’s a normal reaction. If – if you didn’t wish to be held by me, I’m sure Alfred would have –”

“It’s not you, Bruce,” Tim sighed, “It’s okay. I know no one really wants to hug me. I’m fine dealing with it on my own.”

Jason hissed, and tightened his grasp on Tim, constricting the younger boy into a snug hug. He raised his head to glare at Bruce, and his expression was one part rage to one part helplessness to one part desperate hope. An expression Bruce had seen often on a younger Jason.

_This is wrong and I don’t know how to fix it, Bruce please_.

“Tim,” Bruce said quietly, “I do want to hug you. You’re my son. I want to do everything in my power to keep you safe and happy. That’s what being a parent means.”

Jason’s expression twisted into a grimace. “Really?” Tim laughed hollowly, before burrowing further into Jason and leaning into the gentle hair stroking.

Bruce was not emotionally unobservant. He knew that he was missing something here, something Jason already knew and Tim didn’t want to tell him. Bruce just had difficulty finding the right words to tease it out.

“Tim,” Bruce said, suspicious, “How long have you been dealing with this on your own?” He tried to remember if Tim had ever come to him for a hug, and drew a blank. Tim had tolerated Bruce’s affectionate pats and Dick’s enthusiastic greetings, but there were no flying tackles or quiet heads dropping against his shoulder or hands curling around his. Bruce had just assumed that Tim wasn’t a tactile person.

Bruce had assumed.

_Rookie mistake, detective_.

Tim muttered an answer too quiet for him to hear, and Bruce didn’t even have the time to frown before Jason interjected, his voice low and furious, “Since he was nine.”

_What_. Bruce’s first thought was ‘how had Tim gotten exposed to Ivy’s pollen as a _child_?’ before he swiftly realized that that wasn’t the question Jason had answered, because that wasn’t the question Bruce had asked.

_“How long have you been dealing with this on your own?”_ Dealing with…what? Touch starvation? Bruce knew that the Drakes were frequently abroad, but that level of emotional neglect was –

“Fuck you,” Tim snapped with uncharacteristic venom, and shifted enough to elbow Jason. _Hard._ Bruce, taken by surprise, didn’t have enough time to tighten his grip before Jason unbalanced and fell out of their little knot of cuddles.

Jason made an involuntary gasp, sprawled on the bed and blinking too often, hands beginning to tremble. He made no attempt at getting back up, though, merely watching Tim as the younger boy twisted in seething fury.

“You – you can’t apologize for not believing I would keep _your_ secret, and then just go and reveal one of mine!” Tim hissed.

“He’s your dad,” Jason said hoarsely, staying where he was, “He needed to know.” _Your_. Bruce wanted to choke.

“That’s not the point!” Tim shouted – and he was crying again, and Bruce didn’t understand _why_. “How would you feel if I told him about _you_?”

Jason’s eyes flicked to Bruce, expression eerily blank. “Go ahead,” he said softly, “Not like it matters anymore.”

Bruce desperately wanted someone to tell him what was going on. He kept holding onto Tim, who’d quieted into soft sniffles as he stared at Jason.

“I’ll make it easier for you,” Jason half-shrugged, fingers curling into fists where he was clutching the bedsheets, “I was –”

“No,” Tim cut him off, tearing himself from Bruce’s grip to crumple on top of Jason, holding the older boy tightly, “No, Jason, you don’t –”

Jason shifted enough to wrap Tim in a hug, still flat on the bed, weary green eyes locking with Bruce’s gaze. “I was a prostitute,” he said levelly, but Bruce could see the shiver. “Before I met you,” he clarified after a beat.

“Jay,” Tim mumbled softly.

“That’s how I knew Tim,” Jason said, the blank expression cracking as he stared at Bruce’s cowl, “Before. He wanted hugs.”

Some things were clicking together in Bruce’s head. _Didn’t you recognize him after you came back_ , he wanted to ask, because nothing about the state Tim had been left in at Titans Tower suggested that they’d been friends. But Jason was still looking at him like Bruce was going to explode, and Bruce couldn’t figure out why.

“Of course,” Jason exhaled, dropping his gaze and burying his face in Tim’s hair. “Of course you already fucking knew.”

Bruce wasn’t sure how to respond. It – it hadn’t been difficult to pair Jason’s skittishness and triggers and the two years he spent on the streets. Hadn’t been difficult to imagine _why_ Jason was so fiercely violent towards rapists. And half of Hood’s actions upon returning to Crime Alley – no one touching kids, the familiarity with sex workers, the hard rules he’d laid down – had painted a pretty clear picture.

“Jason,” Bruce said softly, daring to place a hand on Jason’s shoulder. Jason shuddered, and Bruce nearly drew it back, but his son leaned into the touch and he left it there.

“You managed to figure _that_ out, and not that the kid’s touch-starved?” Jason muttered.

Bruce placed his other hand on Tim’s back, gently stroking down his spine and watching Tim’s slight shivers ease.

“Even the World’s Greatest Detective isn’t perfect,” Bruce said quietly, and Jason made a wordless huff. Bruce hesitated a moment, before deciding to go for it – he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Jason’s forehead, and another to Tim’s hair, and both his sons relaxed.

“…You know there’s still pollen there, right?” Jason mumbled.

“More time cuddling with my children isn’t a hardship.”


	7. buried birds + end note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Tim wake up to waffles. And a lecture about calling for help. And more hugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by JLee! Scene from end notes of [buried birds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29431260).
> 
> Content warning: past description of buried alive.

Tim woke up slowly. He was nice and warm and something was vibrating gently on his hip and he felt like he was cocooned in protection. He felt _safe_.

There were muffled sounds around him, and a heartbeat under his cheek, and a low conversation in the distance and Tim blinked open his eyes to see a dark T-shirt. Smelled like Alfred’s preferred detergent. Not Kon then.

It didn’t look like he was in his Nest – this actually looked a whole lot like the Manor, and Tim blinked again as he wondered what he was doing in the Manor.

Coffin. He couldn’t breathe. Jason.

“Tim?” came the sleep-hoarse yawn, an arm tightening around him, clearly sensing the jump in his heart rate. “You okay?”

Jason had saved him. They’d drank hot cocoa together and cuddled. Tim was _fine_. “Yeah,” he croaked back, letting his head rest on Jason’s chest for a moment longer and reveling in the warmth. Jason’s height and solid frame had been terrifying when he’d been coming after Tim, but like this, wrapped protectively around him, he felt like Bruce, like Tim was safe and tucked away, like nothing could get to him.

“Mind getting up?” Jason ask-yawned, tugging at his hair, and Tim huffed a laugh. Oh, god, he didn’t even know how long he’d been sleeping – he had W.E. stuff to do –

The vibrating spot on his hip made a quiet sound as he shifted, and Tim froze.

“Tim?” Jason asked as Tim slowly tugged the blanket all the way off his face, “What happened?”

Tim stared at the little kitten curled on top of the blankets, fast asleep. So adorable. So, so dangerous.

“Oh no,” Tim whispered softly.

“What is it?” Jason asked, sounding much more awake.

“Alfred’s sleeping on me,” Tim said, still a whisper. The kitten was purring softly, curled up with its tail near its ears.

“Alf– Tim, _what_ –”

“The cat,” Tim hissed, “Alfred the cat.” Steph had named it Catfred, but Damian promised to skewer anyone who called it that and – wait a minute, wherever his pets were, the little demon was not far behind.

“I swear you’re speaking English, baby bird, but it’s still incomprehensible. Can you please get off?”

“No!” Tim whisper-yelled, “There’s a kitten sleeping on top of me. _Damian’s kitten_. If I move, it’ll wake up!”

A long, stretching silence, and then a low groan. “Are you fucking serious,” Jason said, but his tone was more resigned than angry, “I’m being held hostage by a cat.”

“Kitten,” Tim concealed his smile, “The big, bad Red Hood, held hostage by a kitten.”

“Funny,” Jason grumbled, “Any idea when the kitten will _stop_ napping and I can get up? My foot’s asleep and I’m hungry.”

“Oh, you guys are awake!” a cheerful voice chirped, and Tim carefully twisted to see Dick leaning over them, slightly manic smile on his face.

“Oh fuck,” Jason said, very quietly. Tim shrank back from the expression on Dick’s face.

“Quick question – do you guys want waffles before or after your lecture on _calling for help when in trouble_?” Dick asked, still smiling.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Bludhaven?” Tim asked – though if Damian’s pets were here, that meant the demon brat was here, which meant that Dick would obviously not be far behind.

“I _was_ , then I came over to pick something up and discovered that one of my little brothers had been buried alive and neither of you bothered to _let me know_.”

Tim remembered that they hadn’t written a report, “Did you want a summary, or –”

“No, Tim, I already listened to the comm footage.” There was something cracked in Dick’s expression, and Tim burrowed deeper in Jason’s hold. “And at no point did either of you _consider_ calling for help.”

“You were in Bludhaven –”

“You didn’t know that,” Dick snapped. Oh. Dick was _furious_. “You had no idea where I was. You had no idea how long it would take me to get to Gotham. And I didn’t even _need_ to get to Gotham – I could do research just fine in Bludhaven. So could Babs, on the other side of the country. And Steph _was_ in Gotham, and you didn’t let her know!”

“I – I’m sorry,” Tim hadn’t thought of any of that – hadn’t considered calling Steph – “I was – I wasn’t –”

Jason came to his rescue. “Forgive us for not hunting down every Bat and Bat-adjacent vigilante,” he said acidly, “We were a bit more concerned with the immediate problem of getting Tim out.”

Dick’s fixed smile faded, and he folded gracefully into a crouch, coming down to their eye level. The vibrating pressure disappeared from Tim’s hip, and he panicked for a moment before he saw the kitten curled up in Damian’s arms, the younger boy watching them with an impassive face.

“I know it was scary,” Dick said softly, pressing a soft kiss to Tim’s forehead and ruffling Jason’s bangs, “For both of you.” His gaze shifted pointedly up to Jason. “And I’m so, so sorry that you both had to go through that.”

“Yeah, well, we’re both in one piece, which is more than I can say for some of my other messes,” Jason drawled, and if he was hoping to make Dick back off with a death joke, then it failed. If anything, Dick looked _more_ determined.

“You need to remember to call for help next time,” Dick said gently, “Both of you.” He smiled, “I’ve already drafted some drills to help you guys with that.”

Oh no. Not Nightwing’s drills. Tim hastily looked for a distraction, and saw Steph entering with two plates piled high with waffles that smelled mouthwateringly good.

“Damian and I helped with them too,” Steph said cheerily, a tone that did nothing to disguise her narrowed eyes.

Shit. They really were screwed.

“Is it too late to grab a shovel?” Jason muttered under his breath.

**Author's Note:**

> Theoretically, this will be open until I hit my subscriber count, which is currently at 1243. Practically, I'm never going to hit that milestone, so this is definitely a first-come-first-serve until I run out of energy.
> 
> I am not accepting any further outtake requests on the stories: 'tunnel vision', 'buried birds', 'touch me not', and 'transaction'.


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